Tonight
by Emanium
Summary: Oneshot! Set in 1944. Albus finds Minerva and Tom together after their graduation ball, and takes her back to his office. Merlin knows he has only meant to bid her goodbye before she leaves on the train come morning.


Caressing the unblemished porcelain skin with his fingers, the great Albus Dumbledore was afraid to have succumbed to his most desperate, carnal instincts. Every ounce of self-control he had painstakingly mustered throughout the night was shattered by the mere sight of a formidable witch, barely of age, lost in a moment of passion in the lingering darkness of the Astronomy Tower.

At least that was what the sight had suggested. He had not expected to find her there, of all places, the last night of their time, but that was how the madness had begun. It was her graduation ball, and the girl clad in her navy blue dress, feather-light fabric clinging to her skin and emphasizing her curves, had been the center of attention. The rather immodest cut had shown off her ample bosom, and the slit running all the way up to her thighs displayed one of her long, shapely legs. How he wished she did not attract as much attention as she did. He discreetly made an exit from the staff table to steal a glance at the famous Head Girl, whose unusual choice of attire had stolen his and every other male's breath away. She stood withdrawn from the joyous atmosphere of the ball, watching the couples swirl on the dance floor, but remained a wallflower for as long as Albus had observed her. He did, one way or the other, remain within viewing distance, but always wary of where he stood and whether she noticed him. The last half an hour of the night, however, was vaguer a memory. He remembered turning down colleague after colleague, stating excuse after excuse, until finally the spiked punch had gotten to him and the alcohol mingled with the overheated atmosphere had him stumbling out for fresh air. He did not expect to find himself at the Astronomy Tower, but there he did end up, after traveling up the moving staircases with blurry vision and unstable steps.

There he found her, struggling in the arms of a drunk Tom Riddle, whose hands were roaming over places with animalistic rashness and lack of control. The combination of rage and envy bottled into one made the kind old professor transform instantly into the most feared wizard of the century. His voice was loud to his ears and the young Slytherin looked momentarily sober when the man approached him. His steps were at once not wobbly and his words not slurry from his alcohol consumption. Riddle had cast a knowing smirk at the Transfiguration professor and Albus almost swore he heard him egging him on as he left. Three long strides and Riddle disappeared in a flurry of green robes down the stairway.

"Miss McGonagall," Albus began uncertainly, eyeing the witch who stood facing away at the far end of the tower. He now noticed that the outer robes she donned laid loosely clad on her shoulders, dangerously close to falling to the ground. As she turned, he realized what Riddle implied, or wanted to, as the state of her dress caught his eye, and his morals have yet to reach his mind. Her beautiful dress was torn at various places, some more intimate than others - Albus averted his gaze - and she was trembling in the cold. Along her neck, sharply in contrast to the whiteness of the span, were several sore red spots where her boyfriend had no doubt marked her. He paused in his thoughts when he realized she was waiting for him to continue, send her to her dormitories, to his office, wherever he desired, to assign her work or detention or a serious reprimanding. But if he were to be honest with himself, he wanted nothing more than to ravish her, then and there, in the secluded dark corners of the Astronomy Tower. Come morning, she would part with the midday train and he would never see her again. This lovely witch who had entranced him with her dazzling beauty and intelligent mind, and the most compassionate heart - there she stood, waiting for him. Waiting for a scolding, an invitation. He cursed himself when he expressed the latter while thinking the former.

It had been what, ten minutes? Twenty? His mind failed to comprehend. One moment he was telling her off for sneaking out to snog with another student after curfew - of age or not, he told her he did not care. The next moment they were headed silently to his office, not at all a good place for him to play the veracious teacher, without the pressure of public scrutiny. But he did it all the same, leading her to the bottomless depths of his well, shielded and dark and wrong altogether. She followed him compliantly, heels clicking behind him in able strides.

He reminded himself of propriety and the importance of his career and the consequences of violating the school rules, but as he opened the door and led her into the safety of his small haven, he knew it was of little use. He was torn between throwing her out immediately to spare himself the dangerous temptation and ravishing her against the wall. The small upturn at the corner of her lips suggested that she believed she had the upper hand. The atypical grimace on his suggested that she was right. She watched him slam the door shut with a bit more force than he intended.

"What would you have me do for detention, Sir?" She asked innocently, tongue dancing and wrapping around those syllables, with a Scottish lilt so light that her accent was almost unrecognizable. It pained his good conscience to feel the strain in his trousers. She settled into her chair, the same one she used all those nights for their private chess games, and looked up at him, her gaze unashamed. It was as if he was the one she caught sneaking around after curfew. An attitude he must rectify if he wanted to head anywhere safe for the night, he knew. He mustered enough authority in his voice to remind her he was still a professor, even if he soon would not be hers.

"I do not intend to arrange detentions on the last day of school, Miss McGonagall," he stated warily, all the while reasoning to himself why he had brought her to his office. He struggled to arrive at a satisfactory answer. "I merely wanted to bid you goodbye and the best of fortune as you proceed into a world of fresh opportunities. A bright future awaits you." Albus was fidgeting. He was pulling on his fingers as he hid his hands behind him with as much restraint as he could manage. "Let me confess that I did not wish to express my regards in this manner. However, it is still customary for teachers on rounds to be sending their students back to their dormitories, even tonight." He allowed on his face the briefest of smiles.

"And after tonight?" She responded in a soft, almost longing voice. The nearly indistinguishable rising intonation made it impossible to tell whether it was a question, a prompt, or merely a fragment of her musings voiced aloud at the height of her heartache. It sounded as if she was asking him what he would become to her at the break of dawn, and more importantly, what she would become to him. Tracing the edge of his hardwood table with her finger, she allowed herself a moment's time to memorize the vision, texture, and scent of his belongings. Her long, dark eyelashes fluttered ever so slowly as she answered her own question. "After tonight, you will no longer be my professor." She paused meaningfully, as if hoping he would understand the significance of the change in their relationship. "Tomorrow I will leave at midday. I must admit that I have feared and anticipated this date for too long."

"And I must say that I share that sentiment. But I am proud of all that you have achieved and I look forward to seeing you strive." He said, walking past her to watch the midnight hues from his windows. He could not bear to witness her in her state of undress, and the fact that she clutched her over robes tightly around her thin but curvy body did little to suppress his growing desire. He had spoken the truth, however. He had always envisioned their parting to be one of the most painful things he would have to endure. Not as dramatic as his relationship with Grindelwald, but a small crack in his life that would develop into a constant nagging feeling of loneliness, reminding him of what could have been between him and her. Painful, nonetheless. It would forever be a wound to a man who has awaited his equal for too long, a man who willingly and in good conscience lets go of paradise almost as soon as he had discovered it.

His favorite student, and soon-to-be otherwise, rose from her chair and took a step towards him, then two. Her fingers were twirling around a few strands of her long, ebony hair, long enough to reach her waist. He noted how he had never seen it released from her customary braid for the seven years he had known her. The lustrous mass of straight black hair falling down the span of her back, following the curve of her spine, only served to make her more alluring. He could not help his slightly heavier breathing as she rounded on him, her voice soft and tempting. "If the future is as bleak and as empty as I fear it to be, then I would rather stay with you." She reached a small, bony hand out as if to touch his chest, but the action ceased when he involuntarily flinched and spoke.

"It won't be," he said with a note of finality, his eyes avoiding hers. "There will be doors that will readily open to those of your caliber, and you will revel in the attention, the power, and the influence that you have over the lesser, or the incapable." He had successfully steered the conversation away, and with each word he found himself inching closer towards a sober, professional speech. "I only ask that you not lose yourself to this new attention. It is often so easy for the intelligent to lose themselves to darkness, veiled in the name of the greater good." With an appropriately timed wave, he read his pocket watch and displayed a regretful smile for their sake. "Alas, I forget who I am speaking with. I expect great things from you, Miss McGonagall, I hope that you have cherished our exchanges as I have ours. It has been the most enjoyable seven years of my long, desolate life." He gave her a meaningful smile. To him, it was supposed to translate into a weary, begging smile, asking the girl who did not realize she had such power over him to release him from this torture. "You should return now, you have a train to catch tomorrow. I would be hard pressed to explain the tardiness of one's daughter to your parents should you miss that train."

She looked as if she was waiting for a soft touch, any touch, but he refused to move and she refused to back down. Her unreadable expression took on a determined tinge as she studied his sad smile. Her lower lip was shivering, despite the raging fire in his hearth. Yet great fervor was reflected in those clouded emerald eyes, as she gathered the cloth on her arms and made her request. "Kiss me, Albus. Just this once."

His eyes widened in surprise, but almost as soon as it appeared it subsided. He must be in his twisted fantasies again, playing and replaying this scene until his feet turn numb and his head throbs in an undying headache. He would soon wake with the same annoying tent in his pants, alone in his own bedchambers. But the warmth radiating from her body felt legitimate, crushing him with the weight of reality. He realized how soon his dream, now cast in existence, would develop into a nightmare. He shook his head solemnly with a sad smile. "I cannot."

"Just this once, before I go," she repeated, closing the distance between them as she took his hands and placed them on the sides of her waist, allowing him to hold her closer. "Don't make me beg." She eyed his gaping mouth eagerly, moving into his embrace. The night was still young. Behind them the glistening stars danced upon the night sky as the lovers met each other's lips, each mesmerized by the rush of emotions. Emotions that were once held back by a strong dam of repression and respect for propriety. He was drowning in a rush of love and lust alike when his lips met hers for the first time. She tasted so much better than she did in his dreams, despite his flattering imagination. Her tongue darted into his mouth experimentally, tasting the blend of lemon, chocolate, and the remnants of alcohol. His mind was as blank as hers as they locked each other in an intimate embrace, immersed in fast-flowing emotions that swamped all their senses and rationality. She tasted heavenly, soft and sweet and everything he imagined, but better, so much better than the extents of his imagination. He could only wish for the moment to last forever.

They parted reluctantly, her eyes downcast and his searching on her face for any hint of resentment or remorse. The happiness that engulfed him was quickly replaced by his ever-binding morals as he backed away to the windows to give them more space. He had never wanted something - someone - so strongly in his life, and being Albus Dumbledore, he had always fought for what he wanted, even if some things were more wrong than others. But, as Aberforth tended to imply, even the brightest of crystals would turn into sand upon his touch. He had never meant to hurt anyone, but he always did, one way or the other. He was poison, poison in the lives of other beautiful, blameless people who deserved so much more than what they received. Would she too, crumble to the ground, as his poisonous touch drains the purity and innocence of her soul into the lifeless, hungry void he calls a broken heart?

"Forgive me," he began, for once at a loss for words as the witch's long hair draped in front of her forehead and covered her face, along with whatever emotion her eyes held for him. He settled his suspicions on something along disgust and remorse, knowing she would not return his desire or his love. "I'm very sorry, Minerva. I did not intend for this night to turn out as it has. Let us pretend this never happened-"

He was cut short by an uncontrollable snort of laughter from the young witch. She held her sides as she doubled over in a string of dry, forced laughter, as she blinked back tears. Her face was suddenly flushed, not in a timid wash of embarrassment over her cheeks but bright scarlet boiling up, as it does whenever a McGonagall is triggered by fury. He was stunned now, staring at her as if she had grown a second pair of ears. Stopping abruptly, she found her voice, now hoarse with swallowed anger and pain, "Are you really?" She asked, staring at him as she wrapped her arms protectively around her body - now fragile and visibly shaking.

"I beg your pardon?" Albus stammered, confused.

"Are you really sorry? Am I really that sickening to you, that you cannot bear the thought of placing your lips on mine, oh honorable Lord Dumbledore?" She spat, her words taking on a Scottish lilt. He opened his mouth to protest, but was quickly stifled by her ongoing ranting. "Are you going to return to your bedchambers now, to forget this," she gestured wildly to the room, then gestured to herself, "has ever happened? Have you convinced yourself that Minerva McGonagall has stepped into and out of your life like every other former student had, and this between us… this…" she struggled for words, at a loss to describe their relationship or his feelings for her, but she settled on one, "that our feelings have no hold whatsoever on this relationship?" She was stumbling over words, one thing Minerva McGonagall never did, but she was more angry than she first let on.

Albus sighed. The Minerva he knew was direct, and her directness had put him in a place that he always found difficult to maneuver beyond. This was one of those moments. He chose his words carefully. "To forget this would be the best for both of us," he emphasized 'both', nodding at the word as he spoke. "This cannot be. Our positions, our age, our reputations, my enemies and your ambitions," he shook his head, listing the few fears he had off the top of his head, and he was sure he had more to add. "We simply cannot."

"But what do you want?" She all but mouthed in a whisper, gently holding his hands in hers and allowing him to feel the ever slight shudder crossing her skin.

He opened his mouth but no sound came out. What did he want, indeed? "I want you, Minerva," he admitted, albeit painfully, "I've always wanted you, cared for you, more than I have for anyone. You intrigued me, then you challenged me. When I fell in love with you, it was the most beautiful thing that has ever occurred to me, like a burst of colors in my otherwise bland empty canvas of a life." The sentiment he expressed drowned her in a relief that her feelings were returned, but her stomach dropped as he squeezed her hands in a comforting manner and continued. "That is why I cannot allow you to be my partner. You have your whole life ahead of you and being with me will only ruin you. Leave me, now." He dropped her hand and took a step back. He was wrong for her, so wrong. Even in the heat of his passion he would not allow himself to touch her, to taint her. Young and vibrant and full of life she was. He had lived and traded those in half a century ago. It was for young ambitions and rash decisions, but he had nonetheless. It would not be fair that she trade her youth and zeal for a tired old man like him.

"I want you, Albus." She said, slowly, not without a hint of sadness and helplessness. But it was the determination that grasped him most, that clear pronunciation that voiced her desire, as if she had wanted nothing more for herself. How he had wanted to believe that sentiment.

But he was a grown man in this situation, and she only a student, at the tender age of eighteen, misguided by teenage infatuation like so many before her. And he was feeling a little betrayed after finding her with another man alone in the dark, huddling and sharing kisses mere minutes before her confession. "And what would you call the little display you had with Mr. Riddle?" There came rising vehemence in his otherwise neutral tone. "He is, no less, a charming young man who is your equal." He would not admit that Riddle was any good for her, if his interest in dark magic was any proof, but Riddle was good enough an example to deter her. For a moment, he registered the foreign cadence in his voice. He could only decipher the building bitterness as jealousy. "Is that not want, Minerva?"

"No," she cut him off, as if the thought repulsed her as much as it did him. "He was forcing himself on me. I have never intended to meet him in the first place, but he was very drunk when he approached me, and I was dreading every second of it. I would never have allowed him to touch me if he wasn't murmuring threats in my ear, Albus. I did not have my wand on me," she gestured helplessly to the thin fabric of her dress. He noted the figure-hugging cloth and knew she was speaking the truth.

He willed himself to continue in an even voice. "Nevertheless, there will be men like him - better men, with noble intentions - who will seek to court you properly. Perhaps in the coming summer, or perhaps in a few more to come. That is the romance you seek. All this, between you and me, is a passing infatuation." That was not true, not for him. But for her… he took in her sharp intake of breath. She bit her lower lip so hard that a thin line of blood seeped out, running along the edge of her teeth. "You will see, in time, that I am a poor candidate. I cannot grow old with you, spend as much time with you as I wish. I cannot explore the world with you with a fresh pair of eyes, nor with the enthusiasm or energy of the young. You will not wake every morning to see me on your bedside, holding your hand in a peaceful slumber. Many nights you will lay awake, with heartache, repentance, and apprehension, for I may not return the following morning. And one of those nights, you will be right." He sighed. He could not endure much longer. He was too old for this tirade. "Run along now, kitten. This is not the place for you, nor am I the man for you."

He awaited brisk footsteps, or a slap across his cheek, but what she choked out despite the lump in her throat was a faltering question. "Am I not good enough for you, Albus?" She all but sobbed. He looked at her in surprise. Her fists were balled, and for the second time that hour her whole body was trembling.

"You are the very best," he said, honest to himself. "Hence you only deserve better." But whether she was listening or comprehending, he did not know.

"Am I not intelligent enough, then?" Her voice was cracking, but she summoned enough strength to continue their conversation. For tomorrow she would leave, and she could not leave things unsaid.

With a gulp he admitted, "You are the smartest witch I know, and I dare say the smartest witch of your time. You will accomplish great things-" With every step he took towards the window, she countered with a step to her front. He was quickly running out of space.

"Am I not pretty enough? Do you not desire me?" She asked, her breath hot against his neck. She pressed her body against him and the growing bulge beneath his robes did not go unnoticed. The smallest shift in her body caused a stir in him and he groaned in an uncharacteristic manner. His hands were supporting himself on the window sill, his back flush against the stone wall to support his weight as his legs turned into jelly. He searched in her darkened emerald eyes and knew that she was finding proof of his desire, as he did to her a few moments ago. Testing him.

"Merlin knows I do," he said, embarrassed and ashamed that his robes did little to conceal his growing erection. "You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid my eyes on."

"You said you loved me, was that a lie?" She whispered, her expression unreadable.

"No-"

"If you truly want me, then prove it to me. Don't turn me away," she pressed. "Or was that a lie as well? How many lies have you said tonight, Albus? How many times have you betrayed your heart-"

His finger stopped what was spilling out of her lips. It was agonizing. "Stop," he begged, his voice full of anguish. "Please."

Her expression softened. She did not mean to render him to an image of defeat, but she now knew that he was sincere. "Then tell me what you want. Tell me what's stopping you."

"You are all that I want, but-" She stared at him, waiting, and he sighed again. "The same cannot be said for you. You don't know what you're getting into. You're so young, so lively-" He was pleading, pleading with her not to give him a reason to lose his composure, for he had too small a supply remaining in him. Every minute he counted in his head was the last minute he could hold onto his shield. He was a mess. He did not know who or what he was defending anymore, but he stood his ground, wherever it was. Halfheartedly he hoped she would understand. "I will taint your past, shatter your future; being with me will destroy you," he concluded with despair.

Alas, his assumptions only served to make her angry. She told herself to control her temper. It would not do for her to storm out now. "Do not presume to tell me what I want, Albus Dumbledore," she ground out between clenched teeth. "I am no longer the eleven year old who once so gleefully skimmed the lines of the Headmaster's invitation, who knew nothing more than to sit obediently at my desk and watch you demonstrate animate to inanimate transfiguration." She wrapped her hand around his wrist and brought his fingers to the underside of her breast. "Tonight I stand as a grown woman, sober and knowing of who I want and what I want, asking a man I have longed for seven excruciating years whether he wants me as well." She released his wrist, but was slightly pleased to find that he did not remove his hand from the side of her breast. "It's been almost a decade, and one would have to be an imbecile to not realize one's feelings in that length of time. There are not many decades, even in a witch's life."

In that moment she found herself being swung around, her back now against the stone wall, right hand thrown onto the window sill, and fingertips brushing the slight frost that had formed on the edge of the glass pane. His face was buried in the nape of her neck and one of his hands rubbed tenderly on her breast, the other wrapped around her and caressing the small of her back. He kissed her, hardly noticing the fading marks Tom Riddle had made on her neck; he tasted her skin and sucked on it hard, eliciting a moan of pleasure from the witch before him. "You will regret this," he whispered against her neck in a low, dangerous voice, repeating the sentiment over and over again, as if he was convincing himself too that he would regret his actions come morning. Yet despite his warning, he was no closer to stopping. His fingers found the zip of her dress and in one swift motion he pulled it down to the end of her spine. The fabric loosened and he eased it off of her slender body, allowing it to pool at the bottom of her feet.

She was a magnificent creature, he mused, memorizing the sight that he knew he would visit too often in his pensieve. "This is your last chance-"

She hushed him by claiming his lips in a feverish kiss, with a new urgency that he did not know she possessed. She tasted every corner of his mouth and her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him as close as two entities could physically be. She parted when she was out of breath and grinned. "Has anyone told you you talk too much, Professor?" Albus was stunned by her seductive smile as she carefully stepped out of the puddle of fabric, still in her heels and undergarments. He had more than once caught Horace Slughorn reading magazines that featured young women dressed in the same attire, or lack thereof, posing seductively at the camera. And now his heart thumped loudly in his chest at the vision in front of him, a grown woman purring for what they both wanted, her gestures speaking volumes of their suppressed desire. His erection now throbbed with a rush of blood that he knew rendered the more logical portion of his anatomy useless.

"Come with me," he took her hand and led her across his office. His hold was neither gentle nor rough, as if he was partly pulling her and urging her, but allowing her the space to refuse. She did not, much to his relief, as her fingers wrapped around his hand trustingly. If he had consciously registered the guilt that formed at the back of his mind, he did not feel the same guilt spreading to other parts of his body. The trust she placed in him was not on whether he would not claim her tonight, but quite the contrary. She trusted that he would, only to please her and return her affections, and make the night a memorable one for both of them.

A door materialized at his incantation, and slowly he led her into his humble bedchambers, guiding her to the four-poster bed at the center. She eased his over robes off, with a little help from his part, and fumbled over the buttons on his shirt as they kissed fervently. His hands came to her back to unclasp her black brassiere. Ever so slowly he guided the straps off her shoulders and down her thin arms, until they laid a carelessly discarded heap somewhere on the carpeted floor. She had managed to unbutton his shirt entirely and was working to take it off, but he beat her to it and slipped out of the garment, revealing his bare chest and torso to eyes full of excitement and sensuality. She drank in the image of his lean, muscled body, then tentatively ran a finger down his chest, feeling the sparse hairs, a varying shade of auburn and silver, brush against her sensitive fingers. Her fingers trailed along his softer midsection, evidence of many nights of grading, meetings, and his favorite desserts, until she found the button to his trousers. Instead of unbuttoning the restraining piece of garment, her touch went further to brush against the tight, swelling mound, and earned herself another moan. His breathing got heavier and slightly erratic, she noted, as she brushed her fingers down the length of his erection, until she cupped the bottom of it for a lingering moment. His head was thrown back and his mouth slightly gaping. His eyes were almost shut by the time her administrations came to an end.

With another uncharacteristic growl, he pushed her down onto the mattress, pinning her wrists above her head as he planted small butterfly kisses down her neck, then cupped her breasts and massaged them with a strength stronger than she expected, but pleasurable nonetheless. Sometime in the middle of his passionate kisses, he had banished her heels, only allowing her knickers to stay on. His fingers came to her nipples, now fully erect, and the touch made her moan aloud, her body squirming in response beneath him. He was trying to take off his pants with one hand as he pinned her beneath him with his other, but to no avail, so instead he snapped his fingers again and banished his remaining clothes. He then lowered his kisses to her flat stomach, until he came to the hem of her knickers. It was a laced, low-rise pair, matching with her bra, the type he never thought she would wear - not that the thought had come up many times before, he scolded himself. But he assumed the knickers followed the same style as the tantalizing dress she chose for her ball. He pulled them off her legs in one swift, smooth motion, until he was finally satisfied that no piece of fabric obstructed his view.

The way she watched him with fascination and interest at the same time answered a question that he felt was inappropriate to ask. It was an inappropriate situation at best anyway, he thought. She watched him part her legs slowly with his hands on her knees. A small touch came to brush her clitoris, which lengthened into a tentative stroke, then emboldened into a gentle rubbing of growing intensity. He applied more pressure when he saw her lips quiver and her pupils dilate, knowing he had reached a certain pleasurable spot. Never in the times of self-gratification she spent in her dormitories had Minerva experienced such pleasure, such wanting, as if the emptiness in her grew threefold at his prompts and she desperately needed him to fill her completely. A few more seconds in and she was left panting, and she was very wet, very ready.

He reassured her with his sweet, loving gestures rather than spoken words, as he urged her legs apart and allowed her time to relax. She was adorable at that moment, of all sentiments he had for her. She looked as if she was more curious to what followed than she was overwhelmed by lust. He carefully positioned himself at her entrance, his erection barely touching the skin of her opening. A small glistening bead of fluid dripped out from the tip of his erection, and he could tell that she felt the wetness when he rubbed his cock against her.

He caught her eyes, wide with anticipation, interest, and a slight hint of apprehension, and smiled. His hand caressed the small of her waist, feeling the slight tremble yet again, as her heart pounded and her chest heaved with her accelerated breathing. His own heart was thumping loudly, but rhythmically, at a slower pace. "Do you trust me?" He asked softly.

Her eyes returned with an answer quicker than her quivering lips. "Yes." She smiled, and the thumping slowed. Her heavy breathing gave way to lighter, calmer inhales and exhales, each still distinguishable but not at all rushed or erratic.

Albus brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, murmuring softly, "How I love you, Minerva." She was wet and tight when he entered her, flesh clenching around his swollen cock and pulsing against him. She felt every inch of his length as she tried to relax to welcome him, but he was thicker and longer than she anticipated. Her forehead broke out in sweat as he proceeded with another inch, until he paused and allowed her to adjust to the painful intrusion. The muscles surrounding him slowly slackened in the short frame of time he had allowed her. Tentatively he moved further into her, until the base of his cock was pressed against her tense body.

She felt the pain subside after a moment's patience, replaced by the odd, yet right, feeling of fullness at their physical union. Slowly he withdrew, no more than a few inches, and pumped into her again, this time meeting with less resistance than his first. With each thrust he withdrew a slightly longer length, only to thrust into her again with a more powerful, more desperate push. Her hips began to meet his movements on their own accord, and she began to feel pleasure overwhelm her pain as he drove long and hard into her body, leaving no part of her feeling empty. His larger hands wrapped around her ankles, holding her still and close, where she bent her knees and felt him pumping into her even faster and stronger than he did before. Her lips, now plump and red from their breathless kisses, were parted, and her eyebrows were knitted together, not out of pain but of intense pleasure. She eventually stopped trying to look at where they were joined, and instead concentrated on the face of her lover, whose eyes full of adoration were fixed on the span of her. The mounds on her chest moved in rhythm with his thrusts and he found the sight of them being one, moving at the same pace, drowning in the same sensation, the most pleasurable vision he had ever had the privilege to see.

He felt the tension building, as did she, as he started gained momentum. His thrusting grew increasingly erratic and his breathing hitched. She moaned, writhing under him, feeling a fullness in her abdomen that made her more wanton than ever. She made no notice of him releasing her ankles until she tried to wrap them around his buttocks, pulling him even closer than they were. His arms were planted on either side of her waist, as he lowered himself to kiss her swollen lips. She could not tell whether it was his second or third kiss when she felt her world explode in a moment of pleasure, her mind instantly blank, giving way to sheer bliss. Her walls drummed against the length of his desire and all rational thought was forced out of his mind when he too, reached his climax in a burst of delight. He drifted through the afterglow in a state of near unconsciousness as he spilled his seed inside her. When the last bits of his energy had left him, he slipped out of her body and laid next to her.

She was the first to recover. "That felt wonderful," she said, more to herself than to him as she stared at the vastness of the ceiling.

A soft chuckle escaped him. He supported himself on his elbow and looked at her, his eyes full of adoration. "Yes, it was quite enjoyable. I haven't had better."

"Not so long ago you told me twice in no uncertain terms to leave," she teased, staring into his twinkling blue eyes.

"When the woman you have loved with all your heart and soul offers herself to you, the temptation is too great for any man to resist," he countered, his hand reaching to caress her cheek. "You have to remember, as true as it is that I am your senior, your mentor, and your friend, I am, most fundamentally, only a man."

"And I have offered myself to the only man I have loved, for that I have no regrets." She smiled, still basking in the remnants of their passionate love-making.

He felt torn when her eyes fluttered close, and he too started feeling a wave of exhaustion overwhelming his senses. Her youth had spared her of guilt, but that laid heavy on his heart as he studied the woman before him, lost in paradise in her peaceful slumber. He would have to tell her tomorrow, again, that their relationship would have to cease before they allow it to blossom. Her feelings would pass. He regarded her face with longing, but he could not allow his one-sided desires guide them through this meandering road that held nothing but misery and anguish. He was determined to put her on the right path tomorrow morning, when the train departs. He also made a note to store this memory in his pensieve - a selfish and corrupt thing to do - but it would be the one thing to maintain his sanity when she pulls away from his life. And he knew she would, when she is old enough to comprehend.

At last, he wandlessly conjured his quilt and covered her sleeping form, before laying his head on his pillow. In her sleep she looked every bit an angel who had descended on Earth, trying to rescue a soul as broken and as soiled as his. He felt his weariness, a cruel reminder of his age, take him from where he was. That night he stood and crossed the bounds of his conscience, and now he was leaning dangerously on the verge of his consciousness.

His last thought before drifting off to sleep was that he would bid her goodbye at the train station the next day, and he would not expect her to return.


End file.
